My Favorite Band Does Not Exist

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  ***

  As the green VW Beetle rolled down the interstate, headed southeast toward Indianapolis—and Kentucky beyond—Eunice punched Idea in the arm.

  "Hey!" Idea grabbed his bicep. "What'd you do that for?"

  "Here's the deal, Big Wheel," said Eunice. "Do I seem like the kind of girl who likes a good mystery?"

  Idea stared at her, wondering if she was going to hit him again if he said the wrong thing. "Yeah. Sure."

  "Good guess." Eunice smiled. Then, her smile snapped into a scowl. "I am not, however, a fan of bullshit. Being lied to is not a turn-on for me.

  "So here's the thing. If you want me to keep driving to Kentucky, you're gonna have to tell me why all of a sudden it's okay for us to take this big detour instead of getting to San Diego as fast as possible."

  Idea rubbed his arm and watched her for a moment. Then he blew out his breath and threw his hands in the air. "All right. You got me."

  "How so?" Eunice asked.

  "My mom and dad aren't going to kill themselves on the Internet. Okay? Now can I read my book for a while?" He grabbed his copy of Fireskull's Revenant from the dashboard and opened it to the page that he'd dog-eared to mark his place.

  Eunice's hand darted over and plucked the book from his grip. "We're not done yet. If your parents aren't going to kill themselves and they're not trying to stop you from stopping them, then why are those guys chasing you?"

  Idea looked out the side window. His original, made-up story was much more interesting than the truth, he thought. He was afraid Eunice wouldn't be as impressed by the truth, but he realized he had to tell her or risk losing her help, along with whatever chance he might have to get closer to her.

  He sighed. "They aren't trying to keep me from my parents; I ran away from home and those guys are trying to take me back."

  "Much better." Eunice sniffed loudly. "Now that has the whiff of truth to it."

  "Well, enjoy it. I'm done talking." With that, Idea snatched Fireskull's Revenant back and folded it open. As Eunice returned her full attention to the road and kept the car rolling, he started reading again.

  IT would have been inappropriate in the presence of a witch, but Johnny Without was seized by an urge to laugh as Scrier Inevitas delivered her warning.

  She floated in front of him, her diaphanous white gown flowing and rippling as if she were underwater. "Your only chance for survival is to join with your neighbor. You must combine your forces, else both your kingdoms shall be lost."

  Johnny shook his head. "Damned if I do," he said, his voice changing with every syllable, "damned if I do something else." As his head turned from side to side, it distorted, compressing and stretching into a ceiling-high vertical bar when it turned right, then flattening out like a plank on his shoulders when it turned left.

  With a sigh, he slumped on the throne. His arms swelled to the size of tree trunks, and his legs became as tiny as fingers. "No offense, Scrier, but when are you going to bring me some good news for a change?"

  Scrier hung in midair and said nothing. As often as her guidance had helped him, Johnny never had the feeling that she cared if he lived, died, or turned into a shower of confetti. The only expression that he had ever seen on her face was one of disinterest, as if even the small amount of attention that she paid to him was barely worth the effort.

  It was probably better that way, though. Her impartiality seemed to guarantee that her predictions were truthful.

  Still, her latest offering seemed pretty hard to believe. Stacked up alongside Highcast's Boomsday prophecy, it was especially disturbing.

  According to Highcast, the world would end if Johnny and Fireskull came face-to-face. Scrier, on the other hand, claimed that Johnny's kingdom would be lost if he did not join Fireskull.

  It was enough to make Johnny's head spin. Actually, his head did spin when he tilted it to one side and back again, staring at Scrier.

  "Sorceress," he said. "I have heard a prophecy that the world will be destroyed if Fireskull and I should meet. How am I to know what to believe?"

  "The prophecy is a sham." Scrier's voice sounded like it was engulfed by rushing winds. "It was meant to keep you from your destiny."

  Johnny liked what the witch was telling him. Highcast's prophecy would have kept him from fulfilling his mission in life. "My destiny is to rip the Talisman of Integrity from Fireskull's throat and force him to bring back my sons from the future. My destiny is to retrieve all that I have lost."

  "Among other things," said Scrier.

  Johnny had folded his arms over his chest. When he unfolded them, his right arm was where his left should have been, and vice versa.... But he was distracted and did not notice.

  For him, the question of whom to believe required little consideration. Time and again, Scrier's predictions had proven flawlessly accurate, and her advice had been excellent. Further, Johnny liked the repercussions of what she had to say far more than what Highcast had prophesied.

  He liked most of the repercussions, anyway. One thing did bother him, and made him wonder if he might have been better off believing Highcast's take on the future.

  "Joining forces with Fireskull." Johnny rubbed his chin with fingers that had suddenly become stacks of flesh-colored cubes. "I do not know if I can do that, after all that has happened between us. I cannot see him doing it, either."

  "It is time to change," said Scrier. "Or perish."

  "What if Fireskull does not believe you?" Johnny asked.

  "I know how and when the world will end," she said. "And I tell you, it will not end on a so-called Boomsday when you come face-to-face with your enemy neighbor."

  "I'm just saying, Fireskull might have me killed before I get too close to him."

  Scrier's face darkened. Her black hair whipped, and the roaring wind of her voice grew louder. "Ignore me at your peril. The universe will go on without you."

  Johnny held his hands up in front of him, palms facing the witch. One inflated like a knobby balloon the size of his torso, and the other disappeared except for an outline of dim yellow light.

  "I need that talisman to stabilize my form," he said. "And I need my sons back. I want to believe you."

  "You have been warned." With that, Scrier's body started to turn and rise toward the ceiling, spinning faster the higher she got.

  Realizing she was about to leave, Johnny rushed out some final questions. "What about the threat to my kingdom?" He raised his voice to reach her as she ascended. "I mean our kingdoms. What should we be on the lookout for? What else can we do to prepare?"

  Inscrutable as ever, Scrier did not answer. "We shall meet again," was all she said.

  With that, she whirled even faster and leaped upward, plunging through the ceiling of the throne room as if it provided no resistance whatsoever. She left behind no trace, no disruption of the solid stone through which she had passed.

  Far below, Johnny gazed after her, his eyes drifting slowly apart and sliding off his face. As he stared at the ceiling, he thought of one more question that he would have liked to have asked.

  Johnny knew what he was supposed to do, but he did not know when he was supposed to do it. Did he have hours, days, weeks, or months to forge an alliance with Fireskull? Was the danger to the kingdom so near that he ought to leap into action at that very instant, or did he have enough time to plan and prepare properly?

  He sighed. "Just get it over with," he said to himself, rising from the throne and crossing the chamber to find Shut Stepthroat. "The sooner I see Fireskull, the better."

  AS his captors bound and gagged him, Reacher found himself wishing that he hadn't left his motel room to get ice.

  He knew now that he should have been more careful, but he hadn't taken the price on his head seriously. What were the chances that anyone would pick him out based on the poor likeness posted on the Youforia website and YoFace?

  Apparently, the chances were pretty good.

  Reacher's luck wasn't all bad, though. Instead of
ruthless bounty hunters or lowlifes, his captors were five of the most courteous abductors he could imagine.

  As they took him from the motel under the dimming light of a deep green sunset, they handled him with care. They gagged him, tied him up, zipped him into a garment bag, and slung him over someone's shoulder. But they seemed to go out of their way not to hurt him.

  Even as they captured and whisked him away, they consistently addressed him as either Reacher or Mr. Mirage. They told him what to expect each step of the way, explaining, "Now we're going to take you on the elevator," and, "We're crossing the parking lot now, on the way to our vehicle."

  When the five kidnappers had first approached him in the ice machine nook, before they'd taken him prisoner, Reacher had had a chance to take a good look at each of them. He hadn't thought that any of them had looked especially dangerous.

  In fact, after the conversation that he had gone to the ice machine to get away from, he felt like he might actually be in friendlier hands with the kidnappers than with his manager and bandmates back in his room.

  It had all started with a disagreement over disguises.

  Since Reacher was set against going public, and Sty still thought it was long past time for it, Sty had proposed a compromise. To capitalize on the wave of publicity over the bounty on the band members, he'd suggested that the band keep playing gigs in disguise, but under their own name.

  "It won't work," Reacher had said as he strummed chords on his acoustic guitar. "As soon as we announce we're Youforia, we'll be mobbed and captured."

  "So we don't announce it up front!" Sty's silver hair, which was usually impeccably combed, had gone unruly, and he'd rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt to the elbows. "We don't tell 'em until after the show!"

  "After the first time or two, word will get out," Reacher had said. "People will know."

  "But that's a good thing. Once we're out of town and back on the road, we want them to know." Sty's voice had gotten progressively louder, and his gestures had become wilder. "Who was that masked band? It was Youforia."

  "Forget it," Reacher had said. "It'll never work."

  "It will work," Sty had insisted. "It'll build excitement and let you keep playing in disguise."

  "It'll get us caught and turned in for rewards," Reacher had said. "I won't do it."

  With that, Sty had stepped up to stand toe to toe with Reacher and glare in his face. For a long moment, Sty had remained silent, teeth clenched, shoulders rising and falling.

  And then...

  "You selfish jerk!" Sty had shouted. "How much longer do you think you can keep us all living in your little fantasy world?" His face had turned deep red as he let Reacher have it. "They trust you, man! They believe in you! Now, when everything's in place for this band to succeed, you won't let it!"

  "If you feel that strongly about it, succeed without me," Reacher had replied calmly. "I sure won't stop you."

  "That's exactly what they should do," Sty had said. "But they won't! You're their so-called leader. Too bad you don't know how to lead. This buzz you've got right now won't last forever! Are you going to be a man and take advantage of it, or are you going to let down everyone who believes in you? Are you going to get over this messed-up stage fright of yours, or are you going to let it ruin your friends' big chance at fame? Maybe their only chance?"

  Reacher's face had darkened at that. For most of his life, until Youforia and Eurydice, no one had believed in him at all. "I'm not going to let anyone down," he'd said to Sty, lowering his voice menacingly.

  It was then that Sty had jabbed Reacher in the chest with his finger. "You already have! You're perfectly happy being a coward and a failure, and you're going to drag the rest of us down with you."

  Jaw clenched, Reacher had glared at him. Sty's words had cut so deep that he'd wanted more than anything to shut him up with a punch to the chin.

  It hadn't helped that no one in the room had come to his defense. Eurydice was out somewhere, and the band members had melted into the wallpaper in a way that had suggested they didn't disagree with Sty. Even Chick, who was always an ally, had remained silent during Sty's tirade.

  In that moment, Reacher had felt like they were all ganging up on him. He'd felt trapped, betrayed, resented, and rejected. Worst of all, he'd had a terrible feeling that the others were right and that he was wrong.

  Maybe, on another day or in a different world, Reacher would have reacted by talking things over with the band. Perhaps he could have arrived at a compromise and resolved the problem without resorting to violence.

  Instead, without a word, he'd shoved Sty out of his way, knocking him backward onto a bed. Then he'd grabbed the ice bucket and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut so loudly that it had sounded as if it had been dropped ten stories flat into a parking lot.

  From there, Reacher had marched to the ice machine nook at the far end of the hall. The kidnappers who'd caught him there just might have done him a favor; he was pretty sure that if he'd gone back to his room, he would have ended up quitting or being thrown out of the band. There might even have been a fistfight.

  "We're going to put you in the vehicle now," said one of his captors, a young man. Sure enough, whoever was carrying Reacher lowered him onto what felt like the floor of a vehicle.

  Someone got in beside him and tugged down the zipper of the garment bag a few inches. "That'll let in some more air for you." He tried to catch a glimpse of her through the unzipped opening of the bag, but all he could see was dark gray ceiling.

  Reacher heard the rear door of the vehicle slam shut. People threw themselves onto seats, and someone started the engine.

  "Don't worry a bit," said the girl beside him. "We'll take good care of you." She patted his shoulder through the garment bag. "We're Youforia fans. You know, 'Youfers.' "

  More doors slammed shut, and the vehicle started moving.

  The girl leaned closer to Reacher and lowered her voice to a whisper. "I'll tell you a secret now. It's our secret. The others think they're going to turn you in for the reward ... but not me. I've got other plans for you, Reacher Mirage."

  "THEY don't believe you?" Eunice frowned from across the table in the shopping mall food court in Indianapolis, Indiana.

  Idea closed the Internet browser on his phone and stuffed it in the pocket of his new shirt, a black button-down. He'd just bought it at a store in the mall; his dice T-shirt, which he'd worn for days, had been getting kind of ripe. "I don't think anyone believes me."

  "They think you're lying about making up Youforia?" said Eunice.

  "They think Youforia is real." Idea grabbed his soda from the table and took a sip, gazing down at the people on the ground floor below. He and Eunice had a bird's-eye view from where they were sitting, along the second-floor railing. "I told them the truth about the hoax, and they won't believe me."

  "It really took on a life of its own, didn't it?" said Eunice. "It's broken away from you now."

  "It's been stolen, you mean," said Idea. "Someone took what I created and is cashing in on it."

  "Maybe you should stop worrying about it. Just see what it all turns into."

  "I can't." Idea looked at her with an expression somewhere between anger and helplessness. "It's like it's part of me. I can't let them ruin it." He sighed, then drank some more soda as he stared back down at the shoppers on the ground floor.

  He choked when he spotted familiar faces in the crowd. Most of what he drank went down the wrong pipe, and he started coughing loudly, which was the last thing he wanted to do at that moment.

  "Are you okay?" Eunice asked.

  Idea fought to stifle his hacking. "They found us." Peering between the bars in the railing, he got another look at the men he wished he'd never seen.

  One was brown-skinned and big-nosed, with thick black hair that looked like it had been combed with motor oil. The other was a silver-haired executive type with chiseled features and a flashy tailored suit.

  "I see the
m!" said Eunice. "The ones who were chasing you at Niagara Falls."

  "Bulab and Scholar." Idea nodded. "I can't let them find me."

  Eunice took a quick look around. "Come on." She grabbed his hand.

  The two of them jumped up and darted away, leaving their food on the table. Eunice pulled him toward the nearest department store, the one they'd passed through when they'd come in from the parking lot.

  "How did they find us?" she said. "Some kind of tracking device?"

  Idea pulled out his phone. "They must be watching the website and YoFace. They know we're heading for Maysville."

  Eunice dashed through the perfume department, ignoring the saleswomen waving sample atomizers at her. "And they just happened to stop at the same mall in Indianapolis? Isn't that a pretty big coincidence?"

  "Yes, it is!" He laughed bitterly. "Now do you see why I think I'm trapped in a book?"

  Eunice led him to the left, down the aisle through Housewares. "If this was a book, what would happen next?"

  Idea thought about it. "Bulab and Scholar would see us, I guess. There'd be a dramatic chase scene."

  At that moment, Eunice lurched to a sudden stop.

  Idea ran right into her. "What the—?"

  "Over here!" Without explaining, she hauled him off the walkway, into the women's clothing department. She dragged him behind a circular clothes rack, loaded with short-sleeved tops, and ducked down, pulling him with her.

  Idea looked at her and she put an index finger against her lips, signaling for silence. He caught himself before saying a word.

  Looking away, she slowly rose behind the rack. She stopped when her eyes were just barely above the level of the clothes.

  Idea did the same and instantly realized why she'd bolted. At that very moment, Bulab and Scholar were strolling past, not six feet away. Luckily, they weren't looking in his direction.

  But they did stop in front of the rack. They stood there, talking about where to go next ... and just when Idea thought his heart was going to pound its way out of his chest, they continued walking.